


Gunsmoke In Paradise

by Onhiro



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: F/F, Hamanda Week (Little Witch Academia), Novella, Wild West Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 19:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onhiro/pseuds/Onhiro
Summary: New Mexico Territory, 1880. It is the time of the Wild West, when cattle barons and outlaw gangs rule the territories with iron fists. For all that danger, it is also a place of opportunity. In the small city of Paradise, people from all over the world have come to forge new lives for themselves in a place where strict social mores have less of a hold. But they will have to fight for their town once the Blackwell Gang comes riding into town...
Relationships: Constanze Amalie von Braunschbank Albrechtsberger/Jasminka Antonenko, Diana Cavendish/Atsuko "Akko" Kagari, Hannah England/Amanda O'Neill
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Gunsmoke In Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of this story, back by popular demand! Here's hoping that you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it!

GUNSMOKE IN PARADISE

The Blackwell Gang

“Howdy do, Miss England?”

Hannah England gave a long suffering sigh there in the main street of Paradise, the so-called ‘Gem of the New Mexico Territory’ (a dubious claim at best) before she turned, twirling her parasol in her hands as she set a level, unamused stare at the woman who had just addressed her. Ah, yes, Amanda O’Neill. Self-proclaimed Texan outlaw (though the way the town’s sheriff rolled his eyes whenever he heard the claim made Hannah doubt the veracity of the statement…) and known layabout whose only skill seemed to be winning regularly enough at cards to stay ahead of her debts. She also adamantly refused to wear a dress like a proper lady, and even now stood in front of Hannah, her thumbs hooked behind her gun belt. She was flashing what she probably thought was a charming and rakish smile. Hannah thought it made her look silly, especially with the way her round bolero hat was tilted back on her head so that her wild red hair escaped from underneath the broad, black brim of the round hat. A sweaty neckerchief was tied around her neck, and her vest, button up shirt, and pants were dusty. Hannah cocked an elegant brow at the condition of the other woman’s clothes and at the mud that coated the worn boots on O’Neill’s boots.

“My word,” she said with all the disdainful class that she could summon. “Do my eyes deceive me? Do you have the dust and mud of honest work on you, O’Neill?”

O’Neill’s grin turned sheepish. “Well, I didn’t do all that well at cards last night and couldn’t pay my tab, so Jas had me mucking the saloon’s stables to pay it off.” Her faced grew determined. “I’m gonna make back my losses tonight, though, mark my words!” She shot a sly look at Hannah. “Y’all should come and watch…I always play a bit better with a pretty lady watchin’ me.”

Hannah scoffed. “And how many of the other _pretty ladies_ of town have you already said that to, O’Neill? Besides, you’d have to pay me to spend any amount of time in that barroom surrounded by smelly, drunk men loudly carousing, and believe me when I say, you could not afford my rates.”

At her words, O’Neill’s face fell slightly before that affable grin returned to her face. “Aw, shoot, figured I might as well offer.” She tilted her hat. “Good day to you, then, Miss England. Give my regards to Doctor Cavendish. Might’ve lost my leg if it weren’t for her.”

For a moment, Hannah wondered if she might have been too harsh. O’Neill was a braggart and lazy to boot, but not really a bad person at the end of the day. “I’ll be sure to do so,” she said, her tone softer than before. Before she could turn and continue on her way towards Diana’s office down the street, the distant sound of hooves rumbled through the air, and a frisson of unease rippled through the town at the sight of the thirty horsemen who were riding towards the town, their whoops and hollers interspersed with gunfire as they bore down on their settlement. Hannah’s hands tightened on the handle of her parasol, and O’Neill scowled darkly at the horsemen before she spat into the street.

The Blackwell Gang had returned to Paradise.

The Beating

“Someone ought to do something about those ruffians!”

The Mayor’s voice was reedy and nasally, and set upon Hannah’s nerves as she worked on figuring out the accounts of the day. “That’s something you are going to have to bring up with Frank,” she said, voice firm as she glanced at the diminutive man whose best quality was his sculpted grey moustache. If any citizen of Paradise was asked how it was that the Mayor actually became mayor, the answer was inevitably the same: ‘Darned if I know!’ Thankfully the town was sensible enough that it was able to get along, even in spite of the Mayor being a blustering busybody. Frankly, he was more an elected nuisance than an elected official. Hannah just wished that he would be a nuisance anywhere else than in the front foyer of Diana’s office this evening after the Blackwell Gang had descended upon them in an unruly mob.

The Mayor huffed. “The sheriff is just one man, and there’s thirty of them.”

“And _we’re_ just the town’s doctor’s office!” Hannah snapped back. “How the bloody hell are _we_ supposed to deal with those louts?! We’re going to be busy enough dealing with the increased injuries from the bar fights they’re sure to cause.” She narrowed her eyes at the now red-faced small man. “Perhaps you can talk with Mister Hanbridge, see if he can use his bank’s money to drive them off.”

The red face turned white, and Hannah felt a moment’s pity for him. He may have been a nuisance, but he wasn’t really a fool…he knew just as well as any of them who it was that held the _real_ power in town. “Paul Hanbridge is an associate of Louis Blackwell’s father.”

“There you go, then. Perhaps his business with the elder Blackwell can be used to convince him to rein in his son.”

They both knew that that wasn’t going to happen. Paul Handbridge and his son (the undeniably attractive and well-educated Andrew) were capable and wealthy bankers, but Mister Blackwell was a ruthless cattle baron who held contracts with the US Army. There were rumors that he tolerated his son’s borderline lawless behavior so long as his son heeded his call when someone needed to be reminded as to precisely who was in charge across the territory. There were rumors about the gang that made the blood run cold. Right now they were merely being loud, drunken nuisances…they could be far, far worse.

The Mayor continued to bluster and moan before Hannah finally slammed her pen down on the accounting book. “Mister Mayor, if you do not mind, but I am trying to do my job. Perhaps you would kindly go and do yours _somewhere else_?”

The man stared at her for a moment, expression crestfallen and dejected before he silently collected up his hat and headed out the door into the dark evening.

“You really do need to work on the sharpness of your tongue, Hannah,” came the tiredly amused voice from further in the room, and Hannah turned to see Diana and Barbara entering the foyer, Diana drying her hands on a clean hand towel. They had all of them come from Britain in the years following the American Civil War. Diana had hoped to learn more about the craft of being a doctor from the surgeons who had worked throughout the bloody, violent conflict, but most of them had been of the opinion that a woman couldn’t be a doctor. After all, women couldn’t even vote, how could they possibly be a physician?!

Hannah had to fight the urge to glower at those memories. Never mind the fact that Diana was from a highly esteemed family of physicians and had more medicinal talent in her pinky than most doctors had in their entire body! If it wasn’t for Doctors Elizabeth Blackwell (another Englishwoman, Hannah had been pleased to note at the time) and Lydia Folger Fowler taking Diana under their wizened wings, Diana would have received scant tutelage. Diana had followed in Doctor Blackwell’s footsteps, even, enrolling in Geneva College to earn her degree. But even after becoming a Doctor (and graduating head of her class, to boot!) she still faced much discrimination from her pigheaded male peers. Doctors Blackwell and Fowler had done what they could, but there was only so much they really could do. Diana would have to stretch her proverbial wings.

Thankfully Diana was no quitter…when she couldn’t find further appropriate tutorship in any of the states to the east, the three of them headed west to the frontier, where need dictated that certain social mores be set aside. It was a rough and tumble world out here, where groups like the Blackwell Gang held sway, but Diana was able to practice medicine and had learned under several senior physicians who had initially been skeptical before they learned to respect Diana’s dedication and talent. And now she had her own practice here in the town of Paradise, with Barbara working as her nurse and Hannah as her accountant…and unofficial security guard. Sometimes people saw fit to get shirty with Diana, and Hannah couldn’t abide by that.

“The Mayor wasn’t doing anything useful,” Hannah retorted, returning to the accounting book, finding her place again. “I’ve got better things to do than listen to his complaining.”

Barbara’s answering grin was suspiciously wide, and Hannah immediately narrowed her eyes at her. “You are right about that, Hannah,” she said, lifting up a parcel wrapped in paper. “Delivery for the saloon.”

Hannah’s face fell as she remembered her words with O’Neill earlier. “No,” she said, her voice flat.

Diana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Please, Hannah? Barbara needs to go to the General Store before they close. We used more supplies than we expected today and Barbara knows exactly what we need, but Miss Antonenko needs that parcel as soon as possible.”

Hannah hesitated for only a moment longer before she came from around the counter, taking the parcel from Barbara and meeting her smirk with a glower. “Not a word,” she grumbled.

“Say hi to Miss O’Neill for me,” Barbara said in a sing-song voice.

“Not. A. Word!” Spinning on her heel, she stomped out of the building and towards the saloon. Say hi to Miss O’Neill indeed! Barbara knew that she had her eyes on Andrew, not on the roguish Amanda O’Neill. It didn’t matter if those green eyes really were striking, or how her face really did light up whenever she gave that crooked smile…all that charm didn’t mean anything, not with how lazy O’Neill was (though she did do work when she was called to, and did it well at that) or with how she told more tall tales than pretty much anyone else in town (though those stories did bring a smile to Hannah’s face, generally later in the day when she was in her room above Diana’s office). Nope, she had eyes for Andrew. Right?

Right.

The saloon wasn’t as busy as she had feared it would be. It didn’t have the space to board all of the Blackwell Gang, and so they were occupying an old monastery just outside of town. To her surprise, there was only one scruffy looking man that she didn’t recognize sitting at the bar, his face having that peculiar slackness that came from overindulging in spirits. She stared at him for only a moment before giving the rest of the room a cursory glance. O’Neill was present, but not playing cards like Hannah had expected. She was instead sitting in the corner, seemingly deep in thought, her face uncharacteristically serious and distant. The diminutive woman sitting at the piano was quietly playing Beethoven, which was fitting for her. Constanze was from Germany, just as Jasminka Antonenko was from Russia. Shiny Chariot, the lead dancer and entertainer of the saloon was from France and her protégé was from the Orient, though both of them were absent at the moment, it looked like. The town’s apothecary and mortician, Sucy…well, no one knew quite where she came from and no one was brave enough to ask her, and the owners of the General Store were from Finland. Funny how this small town in the New Mexico Territory had attracted people from all over the world…

Let’s see, how did Diana say it was pronounced? “Zdravstvuy, Jasminka,” she called out, and the young woman with the pale pink hair turned to her with a broad smile.

“Ah, perfect! I was hoping to get that today,” she said as Hannah strode up to the bar and handed the parcel to her. “Father will be pleased.”

“Glad to be of service,” Hannah said with a grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Well, ain’t you a pretty one,” came the slurred voice. The ruffian had slightly roused himself from his drunken stupor and was staring at her with bloodshot eyes as he swayed on his barstool. “Wha’s yer name?”

She rolled her eyes as she turned to leave. “That’s none of your business,” she shot curtly over her shoulder, only to stumble back as a surprisingly quick hand flashed out to seize her wrist in an iron grip, yanking her back into his body. Her heart lurched in shock even as her nose crinkled involuntarily at the smell of strong spirits and an unwashed body.

“Mebbe you should learn yer place!” he slurred, and Hannah was suddenly hyper aware of how wide her eyes were in the mirror on the wall behind the bar, at how the smile that was always on Jasminka’s face had fled away, at the terrible knowledge that this man had a gun on his hip, and as part of the Blackwell Gang, no one would be fool enough to-

“Hey, mister!” came the cracking challenge from behind them, and Hannah’s eyes darted over in the mirror to see O’Neill now standing at her table behind them, absolutely no humor visible on her normally carefree face, and the green eyes that usually held a smile behind them were as hard and sharp as chips of flint. “Y’all need to let go of the lady. _Now_.”

The tension in the room skyrocketed, and it was dead silent. Jasminka stood absolutely still, her hands underneath the bar, and Constanze had turned around on her stool, her face focused, the normal glower far deeper as she stared at the drunken man with dark, unreadable eyes. “Piss off,” the man snapped, pulling Hannah closer to his side, and she clenched her fist, ready to deck him.

But then, O’Neill strode forward, her pace slow and deliberate, boots booming against the wood floor, her spurs jingling with each step. “Neighbor, y’all don’t understand. When I say let her go, you _let her go_.” Those sharp green eyes flitted to the side, meeting Hannah’s hazel gaze in the mirror. “Miss England is one of the best ladies in town. Y’ain’t even worth enough to look at her, much less touch her. Let. Go. Of. Her.”

The man did so, shoving Hannah away from him, and she stumbled a few steps before turning to face the two of them as the man stood up from his stool, facing Amanda as he cleared his coat away from the gun at his hip. “You gotta lot of nerve to-”

Whatever he was going to say went unsaid. The moment that Hannah was away from him, Amanda had darted forward, fast as a snake. Her hand lashed out, catching his face in an open handed slap, knocking him back into the bar. Before anyone could say or do anything, she struck again, and again, the sound of her palm against his cheek cracking through the air. Spluttering, he dropped to his knees, blood running from the corner of his mouth. Amanda seized his shirt’s collar with both her hands, yanking him up as she leaned down, getting in his face. “You ever look at her again, I’ll give you a lickin’ that makes this one seem downright gentle in-”

His hand dropped for his gun, and Hannah started to holler a warning. Even before the first syllable could leave her mouth, there was a blur of movement, faster than she thought possible, and the man sloooowly raised his hands, swallowing heavily, his throat bobbing around the end of the barrel of Amanda’s gun that was now pressed hard into the underside of his jaw. “You reach for that piece again and I swear to God I’ll blow your brains out all over this bar,” Amanda hissed, voice deadly quiet. “I don’t care for you. I don’t care for your pathetic little gang. You go tell that little shit stain who thinks he’s tough just because of who his daddy is that Lightning O’Neill protects this place. Y’all can buy liquor and beer from the street, but you ain’t welcome in here. Understand?”

The man nodded, looking about ready to piss himself, and Amanda bodily threw him against the floor. “Now, _git!_ ” she snarled. “Tell that little boy exactly what I told you, worm! And remember, if you or any of your compadres even so much as looks at Miss England or her friends again, I’ll beat you within an inch of your life!”

The desperado fled, scrambling on his hands and feet, fairly blubbering now, and silence reigned for a moment after his departure. Amanda kept her gun out, trained on the door for a long moment. Hannah took a moment to compose herself, wondering why she felt more unsettled by this new side to the normally mischievous woman who she thought that she knew than by the rough handling from the ruffian. “I could have handled him,” she finally settled on saying.

Amanda’s face lost some of its severity as she holstered her gun and she straightened, her shoulders losing some of their tension. “I know,” she said simply. “I have full confidence in your ability to handle scum like him. But women of your caliber shouldn’t have to deal with someone like that.” She paused, taking in a deep breath before running her hands through her wild hair. “Miss England, leave scum to deal with scum. It don’t hurt my honor none to lay hands on him like that. I’d rather you not have to deal with people like him, not if I can act on your behalf, even if you are fully capable of putting him in his place.”

Now, what was Hannah supposed to say in response to _that?_ She bit her lip, shifting uneasily as she looked at Amanda in a new light. “There’s going to be trouble from this.”

Amanda’s face was grave. “I know,” she said again. “But y’all are newcomers. This town is more able to handle trouble than you’d think.” That hard glint returned to her eyes. “I think it’s high time for that little gang to learn exactly what their place in the world is…”

The Plan

It took Amanda a very long time to calm down. The sight of that wretch touching Miss England filled her with a rage that she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Now, she wasn’t anybody’s fool, she knew that Miss England was leagues beyond her. But for all that? She _liked_ the firecracker from Britain. Damn it all if she didn’t really enjoy teasing Miss England, especially with how her teasing was promptly met with razor sharp wit. Amanda got the feeling that Miss England actually enjoyed teasing her back, and the good Lord knew that if she ever told Amanda to stop, then she would, even if it would break her heart.

But for _that man_ to _dare_ to touch Miss England! He wasn’t fit to walk on the same side of the street as her, much less talk to her. But no, he _touched_ her with his filthy hands! Honestly the only reason she hadn’t shot him dead where he stood was because she was certain that Miss England would oppose such a thing. So she had resorted to beating him, though not as badly as she had so dearly wanted to. It only showed his character (or lack thereof!) with how he had fled the saloon!

Anger still roiling through her gut, Amanda turned towards Jas. “If you could please escort Miss England back to the Doctor’s, I’d much appreciate it.”

Her Russian friend nodded, her face grave as she produced her coach gun from under the bar. “Miss England, if you wouldn’t mind?”

The Englishwoman paused to give Amanda a concerned glance before she followed after Jas. Hmm. That might be bad. Miss England had never looked at her like that before. Not surprising, that, as Amanda had very carefully kept certain aspects of her past from following her to Paradise. But she just couldn’t let certain injustices go unanswered, even if it revealed certain things about her that she’d much rather remain hidden, especially to the woman who had caught her eyes.

Footsteps behind her, coming down the stairs leading up to the boarding rooms, and she turned and Cons to see Chariot du Nord and Atsuko Kagari coming down the steps, Chariot armed with a Colt Single Action revolver and Akko with a Spencer Repeating Rifle, and despite their being in the risqué dresses that marked them as dancers, their faces were grim and determined, and the way they held their weapons spoke of quite a bit of familiarity. “The gang?” Chariot asked.

Amanda nodded. “Just one of them. Put his hands on Miss England. I ain’t gonna stand for that type of behavior.” Cons nodded her agreement.

Akko’s face creased into a frown. “Was Diana involved?”

Amanda shook her head. “Nope, she wasn’t present.” She knew about her friend’s almost obsession with the blonde doctor, and if Amanda wasn’t likely to get with the fiery Hannah, poor Akko was even worse off. Most people barely even treated her like a person, given that she was from Asia, and while the doctor didn’t seem to bear many of the same prejudices of most people…well, Amanda was a gambler, and even she wouldn’t run with those odds. Especially since Akko seemed nearly incapable of forming coherent thought whenever in the presence of the tall doctor…maybe if she could talk to her without babbling like an ass…

The door opened, and the four of the whirled, guns all coming up before lowering. It was Jas, her shotgun resting on her shoulder. “It was quiet,” she said. “Probably won’t be anything tonight, but tomorrow might be a bit tense.”

Amanda gave an unamused huff. “That’s an understatement.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “My temper got us in trouble again, Jas, Cons. Sorry.”

Cons shook her head even as Jas strode up to her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s part of who you are, and part of why Cons and I followed you here all the way from Texas. You’ve got a good heart and a sense of justice. I was about a second from pulling my coach gun on the buffoon, anyhow,” she said, and Amanda smiled as she placed her hand on top of Jas’s, giving it a thankful squeeze.

“Y’all want me to stay scarce tomorrow, stay up in my room?”

A tinkling from the piano, and they turned to Cons, who ran her fingers across the ivory keys, her face thoughtful. After a moment, she nodded. She was always good at the more analytical stuff, and Amanda trusted her judgement.

“Alright, too easy. However, I’ll keep my ears open and my guns loaded. If I hear anything start, I’ll come down, locked and cocked. Keep your hardware at hand,” she said before glancing at Akko and Chariot. “ _All_ of you.” Though the two dancers were never a part of Amanda’s crew, they knew more about her past than most, and trusted her accordingly. They nodded. “I’ll keep a low profile for a few days. The fact that that feller was alone might mean that he’s unpopular enough with the rest of the gang that they’ll find the fact that a woman whipped him more funny than worthy of retribution.”

Even as she said it, she knew that it was a very, _very_ long shot. Akko getting with Doctor Cavendish was much more likely to happen. She knew their type, and their type almost _never_ backed down from an affront to their so-called honor. As Miss England had said, trouble was to come from this…

The Arrest

There were times that Frank really hated his job, he thought to himself as he strode up the dusty morning street towards the saloon, his shotgun held in sweaty hands. For the most part, it weren’t a hard job, and he mostly dealt with drunks that needed a place to sober up over the night. Sometimes you’d get a rough and tumble outsider coming in to try and start something, but they were few and far between. Honestly, the biggest issue they had was with the Blackwell Gang, but so far nothing had come from the tension that gripped Paradise whenever they were in the area. Or at least, nothing until last night. His teeth grit at the thought of the smug smirk on Louis’ face when he had come to the jail, demanding that Miss O’Neill be arrested for assaulting one of his men. Frank sighed gustily as he strode up on to the wraparound porch of the saloon, and his heart started to beat a bit faster in his chest as he thought about what was just about to happen.

He had actually thought about deputizing some of the others in town for this, but had dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came to him. O’Neill respected him and his position in town enough that this shouldn’t go too terribly, but if a couple of others showed up with guns, the chance for things to escalate beyond his control only went up, and then people would likely end up in the ground. Miss Manbavaran would appreciate the business, of course…

Mister Antonenko looked up from polishing some of his beer glasses as Frank stepped through the swinging doors of the saloon, his face paling at the sight of the sheriff in his establishment. “Howdy, sheriff,” he said, eyes darting towards the stairs leading up to the rooms on the second floor. “What can I do you for?”

“Miss O’Neill?” Frank asked grimly. “I’ve got a warrant out on her.”

Mister Antonenko stared at him for a long moment before seeming to deflate. “Upstairs. You know where her room is?”

Frank nodded as he made his way to the stairs. “I ain’t looking for a fight, Mister Antonenko,” he said reassuringly over his shoulder as he began to climb the stairs. “Hopefully this will go peacefully.” _For my sake, if for no one else’s_ , he did not add. He didn’t know _everything_ about O’Neill’s past, but he knew enough that if it came to a fight, he’d likely be outclassed. He was soon outside the right door, and he swallowed heavily as he knocked on it.

“Who is it?” came the voice from within.

“It’s the sheriff,” he replied, and there was a pause.

“Come in.”

 _Well, I’m either going to be gunned down stepping in, or she’s going to at least listen to what I have to say._ Aware of the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face, he turned the handle on the door before opening it, stepping in to the room itself, taking stock of it and its occupant.

He had caught O’Neill at the tail end of her breakfast, it seemed, a mostly empty plate atop a folding table she had set up next to her bed. She was seated on the bed itself, holding a glass of water, one eyebrow cocked coolly at him. She had her pants on, though the suspenders were off and resting on the bed by her hips. She hadn’t yet put on her shirt or vest, only her short sleeved undershirt preserving her modesty, and Frank had the good grace to blush even as he noticed her gun belt was hanging off the bedpost within easy reach. “Frank,” she said with a nod before she took a drink from the glass.

“Unfortunately I’m not here as Frank, I’m here as the Sheriff, and-”

“And I’m not in the mood to listen to _the Sheriff_ , but I will always lend an ear to my friends, Frank included.”

The way she said it brooked no argument, and so he sighed. “Alright, as your _friend_ , then. Louis Blackwell came to me this morning, said you beat one of his men last night, demanded that I arrest you.”

Cool green eyes slowly blinked at him. “A’right,” she drawled, and Frank took the word to mean ‘go on.’

“I think he’s expecting you to resist or to even try and gun me down, but if you come peacefully, I can lean on the mayor to have a trial immediately. This isn’t for murder, we can try and get this done in town, especially if you have witnesses that’ll paint you in a better light.”

O’Neill drew in a deep breath, her face contemplative before she nodded, setting down her glass of water. Standing up, she grabbed her shirt and began to put it on. “I’ll go with you peacefully, but on a few conditions. You take my pistol and rifle with you…I ain’t too keen on walking out of your jail only to get gunned down on my way back to the saloon. And you need to keep a watch on Miss England and the saloon itself. I don’t trust the Blackwell thugs to not try anything while I’m locked up until the trial.”

Frank nodded, feeling a major surge of relief run through him. O’Neill cooperating made this so much easier. “I can do that,” he reassured her as she tucked in her shirt and put on her vest. While she was doing that, he strode over to where her Winchester rifle was leaning against the wall.

“Careful with that, Sheriff,” she warned. “That’s a One-In-One Thousand model of the ’73 Winchester.”

Frank couldn’t help but give an impressed whistle at that. The One-In-One Thousand rifles were noted for their accuracy, and cost $100, more than twice the cost of a standard Winchester 1873 rifle. A Cowhand would have to save up for nearly half a year at standard wages before they could afford one. For O’Neill to have one…at the very least, it was a status symbol, but he also got the feeling that she had one because shooting was serious business, and having a high quality rifle could mean the difference between life and death. Picking up the rifle with all the care that he would give a newborn, he moved over the bed. A moment later, he had her pistol belt draped over his shoulder, and the two of them left the saloon.

There were shocked murmurs up and down the street at the sight of them, and more than just a few of the people out and about stopped to stare at them. Frank didn’t fail to notice that there were quite a few of the Blackwell Gang watching, amused smirks on their faces as they watched him escort O’Neill to the jail. He made sure to meet those smirks with a dark glare. He wasn’t doing this because he was on their side or because he was scared of them. He was the agent of the law in Paradise, and would execute the letter thereof, no matter what happened to his predecessor…

Thankfully there wasn’t anyone else in any of the cells, and in a few minutes, Frank had her pistol and rifle checked in to the armory, and she was sauntering into a cell like she was the queen of the place. Settling in on the thin cot, she tilted her hat over her eyes, and he snorted. “You’re being awfully nonchalant about this, O’Neill,” he noted.

“Oh, come on, now, Frank,” she replied without even lifting the hat from her face. “Y’all just arrested me, we’re practically siblings now. Certainly on a first name basis, at the very least.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Alright, fine. You’re being nonchalant, Amanda.”

Folding her hands over her chest, she shrugged. “Not the first jail I’ve been in, and some of the other times were for crimes much worse than beating someone. No sense in getting all up in a ruckus about it.” But then she was lifting her hat away from her face, her green eyes suddenly sharp and serious. “That said, I expect you to keep up your part of the bargain, Frank. Keep Miss England and the saloon safe. I said I was gonna protect them, and Blackwell and his crew are repugnant enough to try and hurt them while I’m stuck in here just to make a point.”

“Repugnant? I’m impressed that you know the word, Amanda,” he said with a small laugh.

“Frank.”

There was no humor at all in the way she said his name, and his mood sobered. “Right. Amanda, as sheriff, I swear to you: I will do everything I can to keep this town safe.”

She grunted as the hat dropped back down, covering her face. “Hopefully that’ll be enough, Sheriff. Hopefully that’ll be enough…”

The Past

Amanda was dozing lightly in the cell as Frank puttered around in the main room when she heard the door open, rousing her slightly from her nap. It wasn’t the first time that someone had come into the jail since she had been put into it that morning, and so she only paid cursory attention to the low voices that she could just barely hear through the open door leading to the front rooms. Had Frank’s voice been distressed, she’d actually get up, but nothing sounded terribly out of the ordinary. And so she happily skirted the edge of slumber, conserving her energy for what was coming in the future. But then the she heard two sets of footsteps getting louder.

“Hey, Amanda, you’ve got a visitor,” Frank said, his voice amused.

She snorted under the comforting darkness of her hat. “Akko, I’m touched, but you didn’t have to come and visit little old me,” she called out.

“I’m not your friend from the Orient, Miss O’Neill,” came a voice that she recognized instantly, the words themselves dry.

Shocked, she tilted her hat up, squinting slightly in the light to see Hannah standing in the doorway, dressed in a yellow dress that complimented her quite nicely. But as nice as she looked…Amanda sat up on her cot, peering through the bars at Hannah, who looked somewhat unsure of herself. “Japan,” Amanda said shortly.

Hannah frowned in confusion, her head tilting slightly. “Pardon?”

“Akko, she’s from Japan, not the Orient, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“It means ‘from the East,’” Hannah said, her eyes rolling. “Why am I not surprised that you don’t under-”

“Ah, I see,” Amanda cut her off, leaning back against the wall of her cell, folding her hands over her stomach. “So you’re from the Occident, then.”

Hannah blinked, as put off by the assertion itself as she was by the fact that Amanda even _knew_ the word, much less how to use it. “Well, no, I’m British. Northern English, if we’re being specific, but-”

“How come you get to assert your nationality, but someone like Akko can’t?”

“Well, because…” Hannah started before frowning indignantly. “That’s not even what I came here for!”

Amanda grinned at how flustered Hannah was getting. This was more like the woman she admired. “You’re right, it isn’t. But I somehow imagine that our good Doctor would give more stock in who and what someone actually _is_ than most others, especially given what she had to go through to become a surgeon. I know you think the moon and the stars revolve around Doctor Cavendish, so I can’t imagine you doing anything that would really upset her, like denying someone the simple courtesy of acknowledging their own nationality.”

Hannah pouted. “Oh, come on, it’s not as though there are plenty of other people in town that say she’s from the Orient or _worse_.”

Amanda nodded. “You’re right. I’ve gotten into fights with some of the worst of them. But the big difference between them and you? I don’t actually care about their opinion.” At her words, Hannah’s eyes widened as they locked and held gazes, and Amanda didn’t miss how the auburn-haired woman’s cheeks darkened with a blush. Deciding to have some mercy on her, Amanda decided to change the subject. “So, what _did_ you come in here for?”

If anything, Hannah became more flustered, and she stood there for a long moment, fidgeting as her blush darkened. “To thank you,” she finally said. “I was about to hit him, but he had a gun, and no one else in town seems willing to stand up to these ruffians, and I don’t know _why_ that is! Barbara and Diana don’t, either.”

Amanda grimaced. “That’s ‘cause y’all are newcomers here. A few years back we had a sheriff and a decent amount of deputies when the Blackwell Gang showed up.” She gestured at the wall of the jail. “They’re out there, somewhere, out past the town limits, buried in a shallow grave, if Blackwell was feeling generous after he had them killed. They tried to stand up to the gang and got disappeared real quick. Frank was the one deputy spared, and he was picked for sheriff because there was no one else. He’s asked some people to be deputies, but they’ve all said no. It’s quiet enough when that gang ain’t around, and when they are, it can be mighty unhealthy having a metal star on your chest.”

“And yet you hit that man, despite knowing all that.” Hannah’s face creased into a worried frown. “Why?”

For a moment, Amanda was tempted to deflect the question with teasing or with humor, but there were times when honesty was called for. “Because I couldn’t stand seeing him touch you. It made me madder than hell. Someone like that shouldn’t ever touch someone like you, Miss England.” Then she flashed her crooked smile. “B’sides, I ain’t afraid of those yeller idiots, not after what I’ve seen.”

A quirked auburn brow, and Hannah strode up to the bars separating them, her gloved hands grasping the iron rods. “Oh? What have you seen, Miss O’Neill?”

The smile dropped from Amanda’s face and she paled, feeling unease roiling in her gut. “A lot of things, Miss England. Some things not fit for a lady’s ears to hear.”

Hannah drew in a breath, biting her lip as her gaze dropped to the floor. Then hazel eyes were peering up through thick, dark lashes, and Amanda swallowed drily at the look that Hannah gave her. “Amanda,” Hannah said, her voice soft, and Amanda’s heart leapt in her chest at the sound of her first name on Hannah’s lips. “I’d very much appreciate if you pretended for a moment that I’m not a lady. I want to know more about you.”

“I, uh, I don’t think I can ever pretend y’all aren’t a lady, but I can make an exception for you.” She sat up, resting her elbows on her knees, sighing heavily as she turned her hat in her hands. “Just…don’t judge me too harshly. I ain’t always been on the right side of the law.”

“You defended me when not many others would have. I’m inclined to forgive quite a few sins and transgressions for that.”

Amanda chuckled drily at that. “Mightily appreciate that, Miss England.” Hmm, where to start. Brows furrowing, she stared at the floor, and began. “If you’ve spent any time in Texas, y’all know that the O’Neills have a lot of wealth and prestige there, and have sons at all levels of government. If you think the Blackwell family is bad? Ain’t nothing compared to my family and what they’ve done. My grandmother is entirely ruthless, and amassed a fortune despite being Irish.” She narrowed her eyes at Hannah. “I don’t think I need to tell a fine lady from England such as yourself the general opinion that people have of the Irish, do I?” Seeing Hannah’s defensive frown, she raised a hand. “Now, I ain’t blaming you, Miss England…the Great Hunger was more’n thirty years ago, you had no part in what happened. But we both know what it means to be Irish.” She shrugged. “Just the way of the world, is all.”

Hannah thought that over for a moment before nodding. “That’s fair.”

“Now, I loathe my family. I really do. Our fortune was amassed through unethical means, through slavery, blackmail, and buying out anyone who could pose a threat. I hated it all, especially the slavery…it just isn’t right for one person to own another. All men deserve to be free.” She was glaring at the floor now, her hands tightened into fists, and she took a moment to calm down, unclenching her hands and smoothing out the brim of her hat. “Anyway, most of our money comes from cattle, and I spent more time in the saddle than walking on my own two feet growing up.” She grinned. “Heh, it was actually kinda fun, seeing how heated Grandmother would get. All that money spent on educatin’ me, and I never turned into the Southern Belle she wanted me to be.”

Hannah huffed. “So that’s how you knew Occidental, then.” Her head tilted. “You’re a lot smarter than you look, aren’t you?”

Amanda grinned crookedly. “Maybe,” she replied cheekily before she continued. “Anyway, when I was seventeen, I heard about the Pony Express. So, I packed up some bags and ran away. Had to pretend to be a man, but I cussed and fought and spit with the best of them, and they needed good riders. I was able to keep up with the best riders they had. Stuck with them until the war broke out.” Once again, the grin fled from her face. “I…I was a spy for the Union Army. I used every ounce of skill as a rider, all my education, all my wit to survive.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t bear the thought of fighting for the Confederacy, not when they were fighting to keep slavery going. It was tough, though. Even though I hated my family, they were still my family, and they served the Confederacy to a man. By fighting for the Union, I was running the real risk of having to turn a gun on my own kin.” She grimaced. “But it was worth it. All the death and destruction that I saw, the fields of bodies bloated by the Southern sun with a stench so deep that it seemed to take a week to fade away…it was a terrible war, and I was only eighteen when it began.”

She glanced up at Hannah, who was looking at her with a sympathetic frown. “Aw, now shucks, ain’t no need for you to be looking at me like that,” she said with a sad smile. “I volunteered for it, and did my part willingly.” She looked back to the floor, unease fluttering in her gut. This was when it got hard. “No, it was what I did after the war that is the most troubling. At least as a spy and soldier I was working for the Union Army. After the war me and my gang operated on our own authority.”

“Your gang?” Hannah asked.

“Yes’m. After the war…everything that we fought for seemed to slip through our fingers like sand. I get that trying to exact revenge is wrong, but for God’s sake, did all the blood that we spent mean nothing?!” she fairly snarled, hands tightening to fists once more. “They’re only free in name! What’s the point of not being a slave anymore if you live in terror? And the troops, well, they tried, but they took so long too many times. I knew that if anything substantial was to be done, it had to be done outside of the courts that seemed content to let them wallow in misery.” Her eyes flitted up, meeting Hannah’s gaze, and she couldn’t tell what emotion they held. But it didn’t matter, she had started her tale, and she had to finish it. “Constanze and Jasminka were part of it, as well as others. We targeted banks and businesses that went out of their way to profit from the misery of the former slaves, did a lot of robbery, made sure to bring the money to several sympathetic organizations that used the money to protect those in need, move families to states that would be able to keep them safe.”

Her jaw tightened as she held Hannah’s gaze. “And then, of course, the lynchings. _Americans_ murdered for no reason. Local sheriffs were useless, of course, and the US Marshals always seemed overworked so they couldn’t investigate everything. People were being murdered, and nothing was being done.” She took a deep breath. “So, me’n my gang, well, we did _something_ in return.” Now she looked away, unable to look Hannah in the eye for this, afraid of what she’d see. “We murdered them. We know they were guilty, we didn’t kill anyone innocent, but that doesn’t change the fact that we killed men in cold blood for what they did. Well,” she spat bitterly, “when you start murdering white men, especially white men prominent in their own communities, that’s when people start to take notice. It didn’t take long at the point for posses to form, and we had a few gun battles across Oklahoma and Texas before they finally pinned those of us remaining in Abilene. If it weren’t for my family, I would’ve been hanged for sure. But Grandmother couldn’t have that, couldn’t have any O’Neill in the newspapers, executed for murdering her wealthy peers. She paid off the judge and buried all mention of me and my gang, and made it quite clear that I was no longer welcome in Texas or Oklahoma. If I’m caught in any southern state, my life is forfeit, she won’t save me again.”

She sighed heavily, leaning back on the creaking cot, still refusing to look into Hannah’s face as she stood there at the bars to Amanda’s cell, silent. “So there you have it. I’m a Texan Outlaw, a cattle rustler, bank and train robber, former spy, and murderer. If you don’t want to talk to me ever again, I understand. There are some days I can’t hardly stand myself.”

“Don’t be an idiot! At least, not more of an idiot than you already are,” Hannah snapped, and Amanda finally looked up to see Hannah glaring at her, tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes. “Not talk to you? Why, by your reckoning, you might as well be hailed a hero! You risked your life during the war, and after the war when you saw that there was still injustice, you fought once more.” She paused, flushed with emotion as her fingers fluttered over the iron bars. “And you never hurt anyone innocent?”

Amanda vehemently shook her head at that. “Never! I made that quite clear to my crew, that if we ever directly hurt an innocent, I’d turn us all in. We were fighting to bring some protection to those that the law didn’t help like it should. We never killed anyone who either wasn’t trying to kill us or who we weren’t absolutely certain had lynched the innocent.”

Hannah nodded as she brushed a tear away, her jaw set. “That’s all I need to hear. You might be a robber, but you aren’t a murderer. You’ve got a heart of gold, Miss O’Neill, and you sure don’t belong in this cell.” She glared over her shoulder. “I dare say that I’m going to have a cross word with the Mayor. We’re going to get you out of here as soon as humanly possible!”

Amanda stared at her in shock for a moment before she gave an amused huff. “Y’all surprise me. So, hey, what’s _your_ backstory? How’d a firecracker from England wind up all the way out here on the American frontier?”

Hannah’s eyes widened as she blushed prettily. “Oh! Well, my story is a lot less exciting than yours, but-”

She was cut off as the door leading to the street in the other room banged open loudly, and both Hannah and Amanda turned their heads towards the door leading to the front of the building. “Sheriff!” came the almost panicked voice of Jebediah, the carpenter. “Sheriff, come quick, there’s trouble at the saloon!”

The Trouble

Frank ran down the street, double barrel shotgun held in both hands and pistol banging against his hip in its holster. He had left Hannah in the jail, telling her to keep an eye on Amanda, and hopefully the gang wouldn’t try anything stupid against Amanda if there was a witness. They wouldn’t, right? He could only hope.

There was a crowd gathered around the outside of the saloon, and they parted for him as he made his way in to the building itself. He was greeted by a wall of jeers and shouts, and he took a moment to take stock of the situation, his hands tightening on his shotgun. At this hour, Miss Albrechtsberger should be hammering out show tunes on her piano, and the saloon’s dancers should be on the stage, doing their show. But right now, the piano was silent, and its player was facing the crowd with a furious scowl on her face. Miss Antonenko was behind the bar with her father, a coach gun held in her hands, though she wasn’t pointing it at anyone quite yet. Her face was grim, and for good reason: there were at least a dozen of the Blackwell Gang in the saloon, hooting and hollering, and all of them armed. No wonder she wasn’t pointing her gun at anyone. She might get two of them before the rest got her.

Up on the stage, Miss Kagari was kneeling, her face blank with shock and her hand pressed against her forehead, blood running out from underneath it. Chariot du Nord was crouching next to her, wiping the blood away with a handkerchief, both of them in their show clothes, the heavy beer bottle on the stage hinting at what had happened. “If I wanted to see a Chinaman dance, I’d go to the railroad!” one of the thugs crowed, and Frank frowned, anger surging. Miss Kagari was a bit clumsy, to be sure, but she was a good person!

“Now what in the hell is going on here?!” he roared, his voice booming out over the ruckus of the mob, and for a moment, it quieted down. That moment did not last long.

“Y’all need new entertainment, sheriff!” one of the men jeered. “Stupid girl thinks she belongs on the same stage as a white lady.” His buddies hooted their agreement.

Frank stomped forward. “The hell you’re gonna do this in my town! You are all under arrest for-!”

He didn’t get the chance to complete his sentence as a beer bottle crashed against the back of his head. He pitched forward, the world flashing a painful starburst, his gun sliding from senseless hands. Before he could recover, his arms were seized by two bruisers as a third man pulled his pistol from his holster, turning his gun against Miss Antonenko, who had started to lift her shotgun. A growled order that Frank couldn’t make out through the ringing dizziness that still held him in his grip had the Russian woman tossing the gun down on top of the bar, the clattering noise echoing in Frank’s head.

Then the ringing subsided, and Frank was able to make sense of the world again, just as a particularly ugly member of the gang came up with him with an ugly sneer. “ _Your_ town?” he brayed like an ass. “Sheriff, you don’t get it. This ain’t _your_ town, this is _our_ town. We only let you have that badge because you make us laugh!” He stared at Frank for a heartbeat before he lashed out with a fist, punching Frank in the gut. “Git that look outta yer face, _Sheriff!_ ” he snapped as Frank wheezed and gasped, trying to get the air back into his lungs. “A sad little deputy-” the fist cracked against Frank’s jaw, throwing his head to the side, “who only became Sheriff-” the next blow was to the other side of his face, against his cheekbone, “because _we_ let him live shouldn’t get no ideas, y’hear?!”

A rough hand against his vest, and he mumbled a punch drunk protest past an aching jaw and bloody mouth as the man tore his sheriff’s star from his chest. “Let this be a reminder about who your master really is!” With a contemptuous flick of the wrist, the man tossed Frank’s badge into the nearest spittoon, the metal star sending the foul liquid up in a splash. “Go on, boy, git your star!”

His arms were released, and he was shoved stumbling forward, falling on his hands and knees and just barely keeping from knocking the spittoon over. Face burning with shame and aching from the blows, he reached out a shaking hand, sticking it into the tobacco spit, his fingers closing around the star and pulling it out of the urn. A foot connected with his backside. “There! You got your star, sheriff! Now go on and git on out of here, and remember just who the boss is in this town!”

Frank shakily stood, star clenched in his dirty hand, and he kept his head down as he limped to the door. The mob laughed and crowed at what they thought was his defeat and their victory, which couldn’t be further from the truth: he was ducking his head so they couldn’t see the fire in his eyes. They were wrong on two accounts. Firstly, this _was_ his town. And secondly, he _wasn’t_ alone!

The Deputies

Amanda wasn’t quite certain if the lack of gunfire from the direction of the saloon was a good thing or a bad thing, and she nervously paced her cell, running her hands through her unruly hair. So much could be going wrong right now, and her thoughts went out to everyone she loved in the saloon. She felt useless, afraid, and worried, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to help her friends. Damn it all!

Then, footsteps on the porch of the jail, and she froze, her eyes snapping up to stare at the door leading to the front room where Hannah was waiting for Frank’s returned. The door creaked, and Hannah’s voice cried out in shocked concern. Oh, God, no, please, don’t let it be bad news about one of her friends!

Frank’s deep voice, low but carrying: “Don’t worry about me. I need you to go and get Andrew and bring him here, right now.”

A moment’s pause, and then Hannah’s footsteps as she hurried to do Frank’s bidding. The door opened and then closed again, and Frank wandered in the front room, keeping out of sight from the cells. Amanda’s worry spiked sharply. “Frank. Frank! Is everyone okay?” she called out. “What’s going on?!”Silence met her, only broken by the splash of water from what she guessed was the washing bucket, followed by the sound of glasses clinking. Her worry turned to anger, hot and burning. “Gawdammit, Frank, answer me, is everyone okay?!” she snapped as she grabbed the bars of her cell.

“No one’s dead. Battered, maybe, but not dead.”

Dread and relief warred in her heart. “Who?”

“Miss Kagari got hit on the head by a beer bottle,” came his grim voice.

Her hands tightened on cool iron, her heart skipping a beat in her chest, her face frozen in a silent snarl. They hurt Akko? The sonsubitches! She’d make them pay!

The door opened again. “Frank, what’s going-?” came Andrew’s voice, his query cutting off with a sharp gasp. “Oh, Frank, what have they done?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah said, “he hasn’t said anything yet.”

The jingling of metal. “Go on and get O’Neill out of her cell.”

“Pardon?”

“Dammit, Andrew, do what I say!”

Andrew appeared in the doorway, his face terribly troubled and his fine suit slightly dusty, suggesting he really had hurried to the jail. He held a ring of keys in his hands, and in moments, Amanda was free. She frowned in confusion as she followed him in to the main room, only to freeze, her feet rooted to the floor as she finally saw Frank.

His face was swelling rapidly, and his clothes were mussed up. But for all that, his eyes were sharp and focused. “I’m deputizing you two,” he said, his voice quiet but no less filled with rage for all that. “I can’t do this alone, and you two are the only ones I really trust outside of those in the saloon.”

Amanda was shocked, and her wide eyes flicked over to where Hannah was standing, looking just as surprised as she. “Frank?” she asked as he opened up a drawer in the desk he was seated behind, revealing a good number of plain deputy stars. He picked two up out of the pile and slid them across the desk towards her and Andrew.

“We’re going to arrest the Blackwell Gang for the murder of my predecessor and peers, and for assault against Miss Kagari and an officer of the law.” Grim eyes met their gazes. “I expect them to resist.”

Andrew fidgeted. “Frank, I’m not sure that I’m your man, I’m just a banker, and-”

“Andrew, I know what you did during the war.” Frank’s voice was silent but deadly serious. “And I know you hate the business that your father has to do with Mr. Blackwell. They must be taught that they aren’t above the law.”

Amanda didn’t even hesitate as she picked up the star and affixed it to her vest. “Count me in, sheriff,” she said. Andrew took a deep breath before any hint of worry fled away from his face, a steeled jaw and determined glint taking its place as he, too, picked up his star and put it on. “What’s the plan?”

The sound of horses outside. “Sheriff! We done heard that you been gettin’ ideas!” called a voice. “We’ll forgive you if you give us the girl who beat Joe!”

The four of them looked at each other for a moment. “The two of you head out back, come around either side of the door, and take them out from the outside working in. I’ll take center from the porch,” Amanda said. “Hannah, you take cover in the cell room. It’s liable to get lively in a moment!”

They burst into movement, and moments later Amanda had her pistol belt around her hips again, and she breathed a sigh of relief. With it on, she felt complete again. Frank and Andrew took up Winchester rifles and pistols before hurrying towards the back of the building. “We’re losing patience, sheriff!” came the irritated bellow, and Amanda drew in a deep breath as she strode to the door, her rifle in her arms, though she’d leave that inside the building, leaning against the doorjamb. At this range, it was going to be pistol work, no doubt. But before she could actually get to the door, Hannah’s hand snagged her shirt sleeve, and she turned to see the auburn-haired woman looking at her with worried hazel eyes that held a myriad of emotions.

“Amanda, I-” she started, breathless with worry, and Amanda gave her trademark crooked smile.

“Tell me after, Hannah, and don’t worry. Y’all are just about to find out why I’m called Lightning.”

“Sheriff, you don’t come out right now, we’re coming in there, and you won’t like it if we do!” came the challenge, and Amanda took another deep breath, flexing her right hand as she carefully leaned her rifle against the wall next to the door. Tilting her head so her hat covered her face, she opened the door, stepping out into the sunlight beyond. Lightning was just about to strike!

The Gunfight

Amanda kept her head down as she stepped out onto the porch, heart pounding in her chest as her palms began to sweat. It had been a long while since it had come to this. Her mind was racing, going over her next actions very carefully, rehearsing the draw, the cocking, and the gunfire over and over.

“Oh, it’s about damn time, Sheriff!” came the mocking voice. “We thought that you had gone deaf in there! Where’s that girl, she still inside?”

Smirking coldly, she lifted her head, revealing her face to the eight men on horses before her. “I’m your huckleberry,” she said, voice steely.

The men recoiled slightly, obviously not expecting her to be the one to greet them. Damn, Louis wasn’t amongst them! “What the hell is going on?” the leader of this little group snapped, his hand twitching.

“No, no,” she said as she arched her brows. “We just talking right now. Let’s keep it that way for a moment.”

“Talking cocky for someone so outnumbered,” another man sneered.

“And I guarantee that I will get at least four of you before you get me,” she warned. “If you feel comfortable with a fifty-fifty chance of catching one, by all means, reach for a piece. I’ve made my peace with the Almighty. Have you?”

A tense moment enveloped them, and she was peripherally aware of townsfolk running for cover. Finally, the leader spoke. “What are you doing out of your cell?” he sneered. “Where’s the Sheriff?”

“Well, the Sheriff came to me with a problem, see. Paradise seems to be just _infested_ with no good _vermin_ ,” she drawled. “Needed a little help with clearing them out, asked me if I were interested in being a deputy to help him.” She grinned, a shark’s expression. “Why, would you believe it that I told him that not only was I much obliged, but that I couldn’t be happier than to assist?”

The leader scoffed. “What, two of you against thirty of us? I hear tell you’re a gambler. You sure you like them odds?”

“I’d bet my whole pot on them,” she answered coolly. “Pair of aces beats any number of riffraff number cards.” A hot wind whistled down the road, kicking up dust as she stared unflinchingly in the face of the leader’s ugly glare. “Two ways this can go, neighbors. Y’all can fold, toss your guns away from you, get off your horses, and march into the cells behind me, or you can bet on the shitty hand life has given you.” Her lips twitched in a cruel smile, and she spoke louder, loud enough that Frank and Andrew would be able to hear her. “Tell you what, if y’all ain’t ready to play or fold, you can check. Raise your hands, and you will not be charged with attempted murder.” The smile fled from her face. “That’s your last chance. I swear that the first man to touch his gun will be the first to die.”

No one moved for a long, long moment, and Amanda was hyper aware of how the sweat was running down her back, down between her shoulder blades. At how her heart was pounding so hard that it was pulsing the edge of her vision and how all these men were looking at her, their eyes focused and deadly.

Then the leader huffed, shoulders lowering as he seemed to deflate a bit. “Well, hell, boys,” he chuckled as he turned to his right, glancing at his compadres. “The deputy done got a foolproof case. We might as well-”

His arm flashed down, palm slapping against the handle of his gun.

Amanda’s pistol leapt into her hand, and she slammed two shots into his chest, smoke billowing in front of her as his horse screamed and reared, flashing its front hooves into the air as his body tumbled from the saddle. He was dead before he hit the dirt of the street.

Confusion reigned as horses whinnied and neighed, dancing in circles, and the air filled with dust and smoke as gunshots rang out. A streak of fire across her bicep, and she shot the man who only just creased her, hitting him in the gut. He howled, doubling over and clutching himself before trying to ride off, only to be knocked from his saddle from a shot by either Andrew or Frank. Then, almost as soon as it began, it was over, and Amanda squinted through the cloud of smoke. Her ears were ringing and felt like they were stuffed with cotton, and her nose wrinkled at the sulfurous stench of burnt powder that haunted her dreams on some nights.

There was only one of the Blackwell Gang still up, a young, baby-faced boy who couldn’t be older than eighteen, and he was desperately trying to keep his panicking horse under control with his knees. His trembling hands were straight up in the air, and his face was white as a sheet. Amanda turned her gun on him. “Get your belt off and toss it in the street before I blow you outta that saddle!” she barked, and he stared at her with wide eyes before he fumbled to do as she said.

“Amanda, the saloon!” came the warning cry from Frank as he came fully around the corner, his rifle rising to his shoulder as he took aim down the road. Andrew came fully out into the street, checking to make sure that the wounded and dead in the street posed no threat.

Amanda gestured with her pistol. “Go on, git down and get in a cell, damn your eyes!”

The boy nodded, sliding out of his saddle, his legs almost giving out from underneath him before he was stumbling towards the jail. Amanda made no mention of the wet stain around his crotch. Poor kid was probably new, and hadn’t really given hard thought to what it meant to actually be in a gang like this. She followed after him, gun still on his back, though he needed no other prompting to go into the cell that she had until only recently been occupying. He collapsed on to the cot and buried his head in his hands, a single sob tearing itself from his throat as she shut the door to the cell and locked it.

“You’re bleeding,” came Hannah’s worried voice, and she glanced down at her left arm, where blood had soaked her sleeve.

“Ain’t nothing but a scratch,” she reassured Hannah as she quickly reloaded her pistol, slipping it back into the holster. “I got lucky. I’ll get it patched up once this is all over, don’t worry.”

“O’Neill!” came the worried call from outside, followed by the distant sound of gunfire. Cursing under her breath, she ran out, snagging her rifle on the way. She could see figures down by the saloon, but the distance was far enough that she couldn’t quite see if they were members of the gang or townsfolk in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“How many of them were there?” she asked as she took cover in the doorway, flinching at the dull, whistling crack of a bullet passing by, followed by the sound of the shot itself.

“About a dozen!” Frank called back, grimacing as he took aim only to shake his head, lowering his rifle. “I don’t want to hit someone I don’t want to!”

Amanda turned to look the opposite way, towards the monastery. There were still at least ten of them up there, and if they came out and attacked, they’d be hard pressed to win. This wasn’t good.

Then there was a flurry of movement down by the saloon, and they watched as a good dozen figures left the establishment only to begin firing rapidly in their direction, the hail of gunfire kicking up gouts of dust in the street, knocking splinters of wood out of the porch rails and walls, and sparking off of iron hinges and stone walls, and the three of them ducked further behind cover. The gunfire didn’t last long, and after it was silent for a moment, Amanda peered back around the door, staring down the street at the cloud of dirty white smoke. A distant figure emerged from it, and Amanda quickly took aim before lowering her rifle. The man wasn’t armed, and was waving his arms. “They’re gone!” he hollered. “Rode the other way out of town!”

That puzzled Amanda for a moment, until she realized. This was a gang, it wasn’t a military unit. They probably didn’t have a plan of what to do in a situation like this and likely had to group together to plan their next moves. Good. That gave them the chance to do the same. “What next, sheriff?” she asked.

He glanced at the men lying in the street, some of them moaning and crying out in pain. “Well, let’s take care of them, and decide from there.”

The Offer

The barroom of the saloon was a rowdy ruckus as the men and some of the women of town clamoring for attention. The wounded had been delivered to the doctor and the dead to the mortician, and now it was just a matter of time before the rest of the gang acted, and Amanda chafed at the confused squabbling. Every second spent bickering was a second of preparation that was lost. The mayor was being completely useless, and Frank was trying his hardest, bless his heart, but…

Finally losing all patience when some of the louder mouthed fools of town began to accuse Frank of killing them all, she shot up out of her seat. “A’right, that’s enough!” she bellowed, voice cracking through the air like a whip. “Shut your traps, the lot of you!”

Stunned silence followed, and she breathed a sigh of relief even as Frank shot her a thankful look. “Listen, I understand that the situation is perilous, but I couldn’t ignore their lawlessness anymore. I had to act!”

A murmur of discontent rippled through the crowd, but no one got too mouthy, not with how Amanda glared at them. Mrs. Bergsten, an elderly widow, stood out of her seat, hands fluttering in front of her. “But sheriff, what are we to do?” Rheumy grey eyes peered shortsightedly up at them. “There’s only three of you!”

“Should be two,” Paul Hanbridge growled. “Andrew, I am disappointed in you. You’re risking everything by wearing that badge.”

Andrew shook his head grimly. “I’d have risked more by not wearing it, father.”

Frank held up soothing hands. “Andrew joined willingly, Mr. Hanbridge. That was his decision to make.” The elder Hanbridge stared at him for a moment before huffing and turning away, his arms crossing over his chest.

“It don’t have to just be three of us,” Amanda cut in. “The Sheriff has plenty of deputy stars in his office. We can stand up and fight as a town.”

A contemplative murmur at that. Then, George Rogers stuck his head in from where he was keeping watch outside. “There’s one of them fellers comin’ in,” he called out. “Has a white flag, looks unarmed!”

Frank thought for a moment. “Show him in.”

Shortly, the desperado strode into the place like he owned it, and he looked around with a smirk. “I come with terms from the boss,” he drawled. “He’s a merciful man, and only wants the ones who’ve acted against him.” He lifted an arm, pointing at Amanda, Frank, and Andrew before swinging around to point at where Hannah was sitting. “Them. If they come to the monastery unarmed, we’ll leave the rest of you alone. If we have to come and get them, we make no promises as to whether or not some _incidents_ will occur, but we’ll try not to rough up anyone who isn’t wearing a star on their chest. Ain’t your fault that some amongst you got delusions of grandeur in their heads.”

“Is that all?” Frank growled, and the man’s smirk grew wider.

“Nope, that’s it.” He touched the tip of his hat. “Y’all have fifteen minutes to decide. Make the right choice.” With that, he spun on his heel and left, the saloon doors swinging behind him, and Amanda felt dismay roil through her as she looked at the suddenly hesitant faces of the townsfolk.

Frank, too, looked glum. “I’m an officer of the law. I’m not going up there for them to murder me,” he declared. “If they want me, they’ll have to pay the butcher’s bill.” He lifted hopeful eyes to the crowd. “Who’ll join me as deputy?”

Silence met his query, thick and heavy, and Amanda’s jaw tightened. Figures. Bunch’a cowards who-

The piano rang out as its keys were forcefully struck, and Cons spun on her stool before standing and striding up to the three of them, her dour face focused and determined. Jas smiled from where she sat with her family before she turned to them, speaking briefly in Russian before she, too, rose, and Amanda fairly beamed at her two compadres.

“Us, too!” came the cry from the stage, and both Chariot and Akko stood together, dried blood still on Akko’s face, the cut on her forehead an angry red line.

They waited for a moment, but no others spoke, and Amanda sneered at the crowd that seemed wholly vested in not meeting her gaze. “Shame on you who call yourselves men!” she snapped. “Four women have volunteered to defend our town, and yet you stay silent. Get out of our sight, you yellow bellied cowards!”

Her hot words had some of them turning to face her with angry frowns, but they flinched back as she drew her pistol, keeping it trained on the floor by her feet. “I said _git!_ ”

The crowd cleared away, muttering amongst themselves, mostly about how they were going to go home and bar their doors and windows and wait out the coming storm. In moments, it was just the seven of them, plus the Antonenkos and Hannah and, to Amanda’s surprise, the padre. He held his hat in his hands, face creased with a worried and concerned frown. “I cannot condone the violence that is about to take place,” he started, “but I truly believe that you are fighting for justice. Do any of you wish to speak with me before this starts, receive your last rights or even just pray with me?”

Amanda’s heart softened at that. The padre was a good man. She shook her head. “Not me, father. I got many years still ahead of me, no need for me to say my final words now.” She then grinned teasingly. “B’sides, I done lived my life in sin thus far, why stop now?” He stared at her for a moment before he, too, smiled as he chuckled. “But after this is over, I think I might have some confessions to make. I’ll talk to you then?”

He nodded before turning to the others. Cons and Jas both nodded when he looked to them, as did Akko, Chariot, and finally Hannah.

Frank drew in a deep breath. “Right. We’ll keep this simple. They said they were coming to us. Miss Kagari, Miss du Nord, if you wouldn’t mind defending Doctor Cavendish’s building?” They nodded. “The saloon can be held by Albrechtsberger and the Antonenkos, you’re close enough to the Doctor’s that you can provide supporting fire. Andrew, Amanda, and I can hold the jail. If we kill enough of them, they should leave.”

Amanda mulled it over before nodding. It made just as much sense as anything. But still, twenty-two against seven, and not in a way like it was before. She had used her speed to beat those men to the draw, and Frank and Andrew had ambushed them. Now they’d be coming at them with guns in hand and madder’n hell. She took a moment to look in the faces of her friends, hoping that this wouldn’t be the last time she’d see them.

Then, the crackle and pop of distance gunfire, carried on the wind that trembled with the sound of galloping horses. It was time.

The Battle

Diana was focused on the surgery to remove the bullet lodged between the man’s ribs when the door opened. She glanced up to see one of the dancers from the saloon sticking her head in to the room. Diana opened her mouth behind her mask to tell the other woman to not come in when she noticed that she wasn’t making any move to do so, crimson eyes meeting her gaze. “Yes?” she settled on asking as her attention returned to the moaning man.

“Just letting you know, Doctor, that me and Chariot-san are going to be protecting you and your staff,” the dark haired dancer said, her voice carrying the accent of far off lands. “I apologize for any disturbances that this may cause,” she went on with a bob of her head, and Diana glanced back up to her.

…that’s right, she wasn’t just a dancer, was she? Diana had caught sight of her on Sundays, working with the town’s minister to try and teach the local children, even if that teaching was just their letters and basic arithmetic. Diana had noted that the woman before her had taken to the task with gusto, obviously enjoying working with the children. And now she was going to defend them? “Protect us?” Diana asked, brow quirked, and the other woman straightened, opening the door more fully to reveal the deputy star pinned to her button up shirt that she had thrown on over her show clothes. She held a rifle in her hands in a way that suggested familiarity and comfort of use, even though her face was pale and her eyes wide, a bead of sweat rolling down her cheek.

“The Blackwell Gang wants to steal Miss England away,” the dancer said, a steely glint appearing in her eyes as her hands tightened on her rifle, and behind her, Diana could see the older dancer of the town, rearranging the furniture with Hannah, trying to barricade the door. “We won’t let them.”

Diana’s blue eyes met the determined crimson, and her heart fluttered in her chest. She would never admit it to anyone, but she had actually long been curious about the woman before her, but the saloon was no place for someone as respectable at the town doctor. She had thus never had the chance to see her dance or even speak to her. “What’s your name?” she asked as she bent back down over the man.

“My name? Oh! It’s Atsuko Kagari, but you can call me Akko!”

Despite the situation that they had found themselves in, Diana couldn’t help the small smile that touched her lips behind her mask as she made a careful incision in the man’s flesh, ignoring how he stiffened under her scalpel. “Very well. I trust you to keep us safe…Akko.”

She glanced up once more to see that Akko had been watching her work, and while she was still pale, there was no sign that she was particularly squeamish at the sight of the surgery. Once more, their eyes met, and with the determined grin that Akko gave her, one might think that she’d rebuff all the demons from hell with the strength that Diana’s trust gave her. “You can count on me!”

“I believe you,” Diana replied, just as the sound of gunfire kicked up from outside. Jaw set, Akko shut the door, and Diana’s attention strayed to Barbara for just a moment, pausing at the pondering look that Barbara was giving her. “What?” she asked.

Barbara shook her head, eyes sparkling above her own mask as she moved the mirror-backed candle closer, shining more light on the surgery site. “Nothing, doctor,” she said simply, and Diana stared at her for a moment longer before she returned to the surgery before her. She needed to get this done sooner rather than later. There would be much more work for her very shortly…

xxxXXXxxx

The Blackwell Gang wasn’t stupid, more’s the pity. They split into three groups and rode well outside the effective range of any of the town’s defenders, situating themselves on the three main ways into the town proper, with one lone figure staying on the hill outside of town that the monastery was situated on. Likely Louis Blackwell himself, watching his gang do his dirty work. Too bad he was out of range…it was obvious what their plan was: ride in, hard and fast, from multiple directions. The deputies would be hard pressed to focus on all groups at once, and so while they would assuredly kill and wound some of the desperados, it was very likely that they would be overwhelmed.

Amanda knew all of this as she stood on the flat rooftop of the jail, tugging her lower lip worriedly as she watched the three separate groups of distant riders get into position. After that initial flurry of shots that they had fired into the air upon leaving the old monastery, they had stopped shooting as they rode. Amanda soon found out why: as the groups got into position, each fired a single shot into the air, signaling that they were set. Heart beginning to pound in her chest as the third and final shot echoed dryly through the air, Amanda glanced down the road, towards the saloon and doctor’s office. Jas and her father were likely defending the first floor of the saloon with their shotguns, with Cons on the second floor with her Winchester carbine. Akko and Chariot were both likely on the first floor of Cavendish’s. Frank and Andrew were posted up on the porch below, taking cover behind barrels they had rolled into place before turning upright. The back door was barred, and it was thick and sturdy enough that Amanda didn’t think anyone could get through it. But then, if she was being honest with herself, they probably didn’t _need_ to…

…Maybe she _should_ have had a word with the padre.

Two shots that were fired in quick succession cracked through the hot, dry air, and her head came up as the three groups of riders started forward at a walk…a trot…a full on gallop, weaving back and forth as she brought her rifle to her shoulder, drawing bead on one of the lead riders coming down the road closest to the jail. Taking a deep breath and letting half of it out, she squeezed out a shot.

A miss, the rider jinking unexpectedly just as she had pulled the trigger, and she cycled the lever, aiming and firing again. He fell from the saddle with a cry made small by distance. They answered her gunfire with shots of their own, but they were far off and riding galloping horses. Most of their shots went wide, puffs of smoke marking their path as they thundered forward. Amanda still took no chances, crouching down as she poured fire upon the oncoming mob. She was only able to knock two more down before they reached the town, and they were lost behind the buildings around the jail.

Okay, she had gotten three, there were only four left in this group. Frank and Andrew would have to handle them, she thought to herself as she sidled along the rooftop at a crouch, staying low behind the façade as she repositioned so that she could see the saloon. She didn’t have eyes on Doctor Cavendish’s building from where she was, but if she could help out Cons and Jas, hopefully that would be enough. Unfortunately for all of them, neither of the buildings down the road offered very good vantage points to fire at the oncoming bandits. Amanda would be surprised if any of the other two groups lost anyone on the ride in, and now that they were in the town.

A flash of movement, and she sighted and fired quickly, missing the man who had peered out from the alley between the saloon and the barbershop next to it, and he ducked back…only to reappear, returning fire, the bullet cracking against the façade to Amanda’s right. Ducking reflexively, she popped back up and hammered four shots in reply, hopefully giving him something to think about as she repositioned again. Couldn’t do anyone a lick of good if she caught one…maybe she’d be able to catch some of the men closest to the jail being sloppy.

Gunfire was now sounding at all over town as the battle well and truly picked up.

xxxXXXxxx

Akko was well and truly scared, her heart leaping in her chest like a rabbit as she lay behind the counter, her Spencer Rifle held tight to her shoulder, aimed towards the windows and door on the side of the building towards the street. A case of ten tube magazines loaded with the heavy .56-56 shells rested on the floor next to her, and she was going over the reloading process in her head as she waited for an enemy to appear. Once all seven shots had been fired, pull the tube out of the stock. Pull another tube magazine from the case, push into rifle, lock magazine, resume firing. She was a handy shot, and had reloaded her rifle plenty of times, but this was the first time that she was being shot back at, and that changed things.

“Be brave, _ma chérie_ ,” Chariot murmured from where she was crouched besides Akko, her Colt Army revolver in her hand, and Akko took a deep breath, taking strength from those steady words. That’s right. She had her mentor beside her, and she was protecting Diana Cavendish and Miss Parker in the office itself and Miss England here in the front room. The Devil himself could not get her to move.

The crash of gunfire from far too close, and raucous shouts rang through the air. Through the lace curtains, she saw indistinct shapes of men moving, but she held her fire, remembering what Chariot had said. Better to lure them to a false sense of security where they might be able to…to _kill_ them. She swallowed heavily at the thought.

The window to the right of the door shattered, and she swallowed a scream as a brick clattered across the wooden floor. To her left, Hannah let out a blistering string of curses from where she was hiding behind the counter just as the silhouette of a man appeared behind the curtains.

An eerie sense of calm came over her then as she wiggled slightly, resting the sights of her rifle square on the silhouette’s torso just as a filthy hand reach through the de-paned window, tearing at the filmy fabric. “You still too gawdamn good for me, you harlot?!” a voice slurred as the curtains were torn down, revealing a filthy man with a scruffy, bearded face. He peered into the room, his face a rictus of hate. She knew exactly the moment he saw her, his face growing slack and pale, his eyes widening. “Wait-” he started. She wouldn’t let him finish the sentence.

The Spencer Rifle kicked against her shoulder like an angry mule, and the cloud of dirty white smoke billowed out from the muzzle. The heavy .56 caliber bullet caught the man in the gut, and he folded in on himself as he was thrown backwards. Akko couldn’t hear the cursing that met the man’s demise over the ringing in her ears from the loud report of the rifle, and even if she could hear, she wouldn’t have paid it no mind. She was too busy reloading, throwing the rifle’s lever down to eject the spent shell casing before bringing it back up, sending a new round home in the waiting breech. Thumbing back the hammer, she took sight again, peering through the smoke haze for anything that suggested danger.

A hail of bullets came crashing through the windows and splintering through the door, and Chariot ducked further behind the counter as the air was filled with the malignant buzz of bullets passing overhead, but they were well behind cover, and the surgery where Diana, Barbara, and her patient was lay down the hall. She wasn’t in the line of fire. She was safe. All Akko had to do was shoot anyone who tried to break in. Easy. But then, a flutter of unease, and she hoped with all her heart that everything was going well for her friends.

Out beyond the broken window, gunfire continued, loud and persistent.

xxxXXXxxx

Things were not going so well in the saloon. There were just too many ways in, too many windows and doors, and even with two shotguns between them, Jasminka and her father were hard pressed to defend the family business, even with the knowledge that the rest of the family was up on the third floor, mother guarding the younger children in the rooms that they lived in. Mr. Antonenko had dropped the first man to cross the threshold to the barroom, but he had then been forced to retreat, persistent gunfire chasing him out from behind the bar and towards the main lobby. Jasminka took two in the back of the building, her face grim as she reloaded the two barrels of her shotgun. Her father called out, telling her to retreat, and she fired another shot towards the back door, a parting gift to buy scant seconds as she hurried towards the front of the first floor.

A figure appeared in front of her, and then it was as though a mule kicked her right shoulder. She kept her grip on her shotgun, though, and she rewarded him with buckshot straight to the chest, knocking him back in to the grandfather clock that had survived the long journey from Saint Petersburg. She would have to mourn its loss later. “Come, _malen'kiy vorobey!_ ” her father cried. “Up the stairs!”

She joined him on the second floor, peering at his face that was speckled with blood. “You’re hurt, papa,” she said, and he gently grabbed her arm.

“You’re hurt worse, dear one,” he replied, and she flexed her arm, wincing slightly.

“Nothing seems broken.”

Crashing from down below, and she bit her lip. “I must check on Constanze. Will you be okay here?”

He nodded, lifting his shotgun. “Not even the Cossacks could move me,” he reassured her, and she smiled gently.

“Of course, papa. Be safe.”

She found Cons, lying in a small pool of blood by a window, her carbine lying on the floor beside her, and for a second, the blood turned to ice in her veins. She darted forward, keeping low as she went to her friend’s side, heart in her throat as she cried out in alarm.

Then, to her immense relief, Constanze stirred, eyelids fluttering before they opened, revealing unfocused and slightly crossed dark eyes that wandered for a moment before finding Jasminka’s face, and Cons smiled slightly. She had been shot in the side, but it seemed as though the bleeding was already slowing. Grimacing, Jas seized the sheet from the bed and set to work, tearing it up so that she could wad some of it up, pressing it against Cons’ side, ignoring the small croak of pain as she wrapped the rest of the sheet tightly around her torso. “Rest, Constanze,” she said as she picked up the dropped carbine. “I will keep you safe, _moya lyubov'!_ ”

Heart hardened, she made her way back out into the hall, and men would quail before her grim visage. The Russian Bear had been awakened, and would not rest until its thirst for bloody vengeance had been sated.

xxxXXXxxx

Amanda was in a pickle. Frank and Andrew had been forced back into the jail itself, Frank shouting out that Andrew had been shot but that he seemed to be doing alright. But there were enough of the bandits around that anytime Amanda so much as peeked over the wall, she was met by bullets. She needed to get off the roof. But if she did, she’d be jumping into the sights of who even knew how many members of the Blackwell Gang.

Once more her eyes turned towards the lone horseman still holding his ground by the monastery. If only she could somehow _get_ to him, then maybe she could stop this damn attack, and-

She blinked before her eyes narrowed. That’s right. She just needed to take out Louis Blackwell and the gang should dissipate! Better than trading shots with his thugs. But how to get to him? She’d have to get to the stables, and even if she could get there, she’d get shot out of the saddle before she got out of town, she-

Wait. What if she…? Oh, it was a long shot, but it was better than nothing! First, she needed to get off this roof. The last she checked, the side of the building closest to the saloon was quietest, as they were far more preoccupied with the occupants thereof to pay her much mind. Crawling over to that side, she quickly peeked over the top of the façade before dropping back down. Yep. Sure enough, there he was, a feller way down the street, peering over the top of a barrel. Taking a steadying breath, she took off her hat and placed it over the end of her rifle. Lying down on the roof, she slowly lifted it so that just the crown was exposed. Pausing just a moment, she moved it towards the street, bobbing it like it was on top of her head and she was walking like a duck. Another pause, and she started to rise it like she was lifting her head to look over the-

The hat flew from the end of the rifle, a hole square in its crown, and Amanda shot up, rifle flying to her shoulder. The sights found the distant man as he cycled the lever to his rifle, and she shot him dead. Knowing she had scant moments to act, she threw herself over the side of the façade, hanging on to it with her right hand before she let go, falling the rest of the distance to the ground. She hit feet first before falling back onto her butt with a wince…just as a bullet cracked right through where her chest had been. She scrambled back in the dust, swearing mightily just before she rapid fired three shots at the man she hadn’t known had been in the alley. The first just barely missed, but the other two struck true, and he went down with a bellow. Not wanting to outstay her welcome, she got back up to her feet and took off in the opposite direction, away from the main street, reloading her rifle from the bullets on her belt as she went.

“Zeb, y’all alright?” came the voice from ahead of her, just as a man with a double barrel shotgun came around the corner, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of her. It was his shock that saved Amanda, and she gunned him down with her rifle even before he could swing his gun around on her. He must’ve been watching the back door to make sure they didn’t escape. Clever bastards! _So that was three from the ride in, and three just now…come on, that’s damn near a third of you, why don’t all y’all just_ quit _, dammit?!_

Licking her dry lips, she peered around the corner of the building, but it was as she suspected. There just weren’t enough of them to have eyes on every inch of ground in town. A flicker of movement had her flinching back before she paused, sagging with relief as she looked back around the corner. Just like that, her prayers were answered. The man wasn’t just guarding the back door, he was also keeping a watch on the group’s horses! She hurried over to the animals, one of them lifting its head from where it had been sniffing at the ground for any sort of food to look at her with large, brown eyes.

“Howdy, beautiful,” Amanda breathed as she leaned her rifle against the wall before reached out a hand. The horse sniffed it curiously before pressing her velvety, whiskered muzzle against Amanda’s palm. “We’re going to go for a ride.”

Then came the challenging bit. If she tried to ride out of here in the saddle, she’d very likely get picked off, especially since she needed to hurry…taking the scenic route meant more time, which meant that someone she knew and cared for might get hurt or killed. But she was Lightning O’Neill, former Pony Express Rider and spy. No one in Paradise was her equal in the saddle…or out of it, as this case turned out to be. Her left hand found the saddle horn, and her right hand took the reins as she drew in a deep breath. This was going to take quite a bit of skill and strength. Lifting her feet from the ground, she slapped the reins against the horse’s neck. “Hyah!” she yelled out, foot thumping the horse’s side even as her right hand fisted in the horse’s mane.

The horse took off at a run, and Amanda grit her teeth as she held her body parallel to the ground that flashed beneath her, hooves churning dirt only feet from her face and body. Anyone looking from the town would see a riderless horse running helter skelter back towards the monastery. There were a few shouts and cries that she heard, but she couldn’t tell if that was the gang members still alive trying to get the horse to stop or if it was in response to something else.

Finally, when she felt that they were far enough away, she swung around, dropping her feet to the ground and using their impact against the dirt to pop her body up in the air, and she pulled herself into the saddle, now well and truly urging the horse forward in a serpentine path. No bullet found her back, and she charged forward, up to the lone man sitting on the horse up by the monastery.

The Culprit

Whatever she was expecting upon reaching him wasn’t quite what she got, Amanda realized with a frown as she pulled the horse up to a stop in front of the blonde man who was about her age. His face had a slackness to it that brought to mind a weakness of will and character, and his eyes held none of the cunning, cruel intelligence that she had expected to find. No, if anything, he seemed to be watching the town more with unease and worry than with the gaze of the one orchestrating the cruelty and violence. He made no move to reach for the pistol at his hip, and Amanda’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she noticed that the bullet loops on his belt were all empty.

“Louis Blackwell,” she called out, “I’m placing you under arrest for conspiracy to murder and assault!”

He turned those weak, almost scared eyes on her. “I tried to stop them, I really did, but they were so angry!” he said, his voice pleading as though he were trying to make her understand. “He tried to touch a respectable lady, of course he deserved the beating, but they wouldn’t listen!”

She frowned, confusion eating at her. “Wait, you _are_ Louis Blackwell, are you not?”

“I am,” he replied before shrugging. “For all the good that _that_ does.”

It all clicked into place. Why he was up here, alone, with what she presumed was an empty gun. Why he hadn’t been a part of any of what had already happened, why he had only just barely been seen in town before the gang occupied the monastery. “This…ain’t your fault, is it?” she asked, flabbergasted. “You don’t even want to be here, do you?”

He gave a bitter grimace. “Oh, I enjoy having the power and prestige of being a Blackwell, and if we rough up some people who think they can take from my father, who cares? But this?” he gestured at the town behind Amanda. “This is too much! This anger…it’s out of my control.” His eyes widened. “Watch-!”

Amanda blinked, shook her head, shifted feebly, her body pressed against the hard ground. Why was she on the ground? She should be on a horse! What…? Bringing her arms under her body, she tried to push herself up, only for her left arm to completely collapse, an explosion of pain consuming her.

She had been shot in the back.

It must have knocked the sense out of her, same as it knocked her out of the saddle! Groaning, she tried to move, only for someone to kick her over, and she howled in agony, eyes squeezing shut from the pain and from the sun glaring mercilessly into her face. The voices seemed float down to her from a great distance.

“Stop, what are you doing, you can’t shoot her!”

“Shut your trap, Louis, and get ready to ride!”

“She’s a deputy, dammit! There’ll be trouble from this!”

“Your daddy will make all this go away, just you see. We lost too many dependable men, and it’s all…her…fault.” A pause, and Amanda crack her eyes open to see a man in a brown duster standing over her, a gun trained on her head. “Don’t you look away, boy! You, more’n anybody else, needs to know what it means to cross the Blackwell gang!” the man was snapping in the direction of Louis. Then he was looking back down to where she was bleeding in the dirt. “You managed to mess things up rather finely, didn’t you, _Lightning_ O’Neill?” he bit out mockingly as he made a great show of thumbing back the hammer of his pistol. “Any last words?”

It was hard to think through the pain, and darkness was gathering in the corner of her vision. God, he got her good, didn’t he? “I’d be…much obliged…” she grit through clenched teeth as a cold sweat broke out over her body, “…if you fornicated with a rattlesnake nest, you yellow bellied coward!”

Rage flicked across his face like a storm across the prairie…and then he smiled. “Well, you got guts to spare. Too bad they didn’t put knowing when to quit in you when they made you.”

He raised the gun, taking careful aim, and Amanda stared at him, refusing to flinch…

A shot rang out, and he blinked, a look of confusion running across his craggy face before it grew blank, and he dropped to his knees, pistol sliding from his fingers before he toppled over.

Hooves, approaching fast, and Louis raising his hands, stammering out his surrender, and a figure blocked the sun. A woman with ruddy features, an odd leather cap with goggles, and a missing front tooth peered down at her from atop a horse before her face split into a wide grin. “Well, hell, Marshal, this one is still alive! Looks like we made it in time!”

Another figure appeared, this one a woman with severe features and eyes the color of blued steel, her hair a mousy brown beneath her broad brimmed hat. She held a rifle in her hands, and a US Marshal badge was on the chest of her jacket. “Well, deputy, it looks like you had one heck of a ruckus,” she said, her voice dry before her humorless face turned towards the town. “Don’t you fret. Me and my posse will take it from here.”

Amanda said something in return…or at least, she started to mumble something, but the darkness was roaring in quick, and the last thing she was aware of was a surge of relief hidden behind that snuffed her awareness out with all the finality of a tornado blowing out a candle.

Then? Darkness.

The Aftermath

Akko was sitting on one of the spare chairs in the front room of Doctor Cavendish’s office, her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. How could she be so tired after so short a fight?

The sound of feet crackling over the broken glass that littered the floor. “Tea?”

Rousing herself, Akko looked up to see Doctor Cavendish holding a teacup and saucer out to her. She straightened, accepting the cup, leaning back in the chair as she took a sip. Mmm. Not as good as her grandmother’s tea back in Japan, but not bad, for all that. “Arigatō,” she murmured appreciatively before taking another sip, the drink warming her to her core. “Is she going to be alright?” she asked softly, and Doctor Cavendish sighed wearily as she pulled up another chair beside Akko’s, sitting down in it.

“Yes. I believe so. At least, the surgery went well. For both her and Fraulein Albrechtsberger.” She leaned her bed back against the wall, wresting her wrist over her eyes. “My word, am I tired. I suppose we’re just lucky that the two of them were the worst of our injured. They did well.” A pause. “ _You_ did well.”

“Hmm?” Akko hummed, before blushing and shaking her head. “Oh, no, I just kept people out of here is all.”

A warm, firm hand on her knee, and Akko stared at it for a moment, her face heating in a fierce blush before she chanced a glance at Doctor Cavendish. Steady blue eyes filled with _something_ that went far deeper than the surface were staring calmly at her. “You kept me and my friends safe, when so few others from this town were willing to do the same. That means the whole world to me.” Her head tilted to the side. “If I may ask, why are you a dancer in the saloon? Do you enjoy doing it?”

Akko’s brows drew slightly together at the question, her weariness growing almost to the point that it ached. “No, not really. But what else am I supposed to do? I’m a woman. Worse than that, I’m a woman from Japan.” She grimaced. “Most people here don’t even care, though. They see me and say I’m from China. I’m, how you say, an exotic dancer because to them, I _am_ exotic. A curiosity, not a living, breathing person with hopes and dreams of my own.” She glanced at the door, her features softening. “I am glad that the priest here allows me to work with the children. That? I truly enjoy doing. Seeing their faces light up as they learn something new. And what’s more, they don’t make fun of me or my culture when I teach them about home.”

“So you’d rather be a teacher than a dancer?”

She turned back to Doctor Cavendish, her face almost pleadingly as she met the steady gaze of the woman next to her. “Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

Doctor Cavendish took a moment to digest that before she nodded, her jaw set. “Very well. I’ll help you.”

What? “Nani?” Akko said.

“Judging by your expression and the tone you just used, I’m going to assume ‘nani’ means ‘what’?” the doctor asked, and Akko nodded almost dumbly. “I’m going to help you become a teacher.” Those blue eyes hardened. “Woe betide the man who objects…you helped defend this town, you were briefly a deputy, and I’m sure the padre wouldn’t at all be opposed to speaking in your favor. If you have the town doctor, the sheriff, and the priest all speaking on your behalf, then any soul that objects can go rot, for all I care.”

Akko stared at Doctor Cavendish. “Doctor…”

A raised hand. “Please, after what you did today, I’d rather you call me Diana, Akko.”

“Er…Diana, why are you doing this for me?”

A surprised look. “Is it not obvious?” A soft smile. “I’m rather fond of you, Miss Akko. Before you had my curiosity, but now? I assure you, now you have my attention.”

Akko’s face must be a deep red by now. “Um, I’m, uh, I’m very clumsy!” she protested. “And I like to eat fish, like, a lot.” Given how Diana’s face was more amused than appalled, Akko wasn’t doing very good at convincing her that this was a bad idea. Frantic now, her mouth spewed the words before her brain could stop them: “I like women, not men.”

Diana’s face showed her surprise at the words, and she drew back. Akko closed her eyes, bracing herself for the words that simply _had_ to be coming, words telling her that she was sinful, that she was perverse. “Oh, good, I was hoping that you did.”

Her eyes flared open, and she turned shocked eyes on Diana, noting the blush that touched her cheeks. “…what?”

Diana chuckled even as her blush deepened, and she glanced to the side as she ran a hand through her hair. “Miss Akko, like I said, I’m _fond_ of you. Had you not been interested, that would have been the end of it, but…”

“But I am, so it’s not the end,” Akko answered with a hopeful grin before she glanced towards the door leading further back into the building. “I can only hope that Amanda finds her own happiness.”

Diana gave a small huff at that. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem…”

xxxXXXxxx

Amanda swam up through the darkness that surrounded her, heading towards the light glimmering in the distance. The closer she drew to the light, her awareness grew, and she groaned as the pain hit her. It felt like she had been kicked by a horse, the throbbing focused on her back. That’s right, she had been shot.

A warm hand against her forehead, and her eyes finally fluttered open, squinting slightly in the light of the room that she recognized as being one of the rooms of Doctor Cavendish’s office. She was lying in bed, her torso tightly wrapped with bandages, and Hannah was sitting in a chair by her side. It was her hand on Amanda’s forehead, and she smiled down at her. “Howdy do, Miss O’Neill?” she asked gently.

“Well, I feel like I just got shot,” she said with a grimace, the sharp flaring of pain telling her that she probably had at least one broken rib. “But the company is fine, so I can’t complain.” She sobered. “Anyone else hurt?”

Hannah’s face also grew solemn. “Constanze was hurt pretty badly, she’s in the next room over. Diana says she’s going to fully recover. Jasminka was shot in the arm, but it missed anything vital and was able to be stitched up. Her father got peppered in the face by splinters by a near miss…he’ll likely have pockmark scars but is otherwise well. Andrew was shot in the leg and is on crutches for the time being. Otherwise, all is well.”

Amanda sighed in relief, sinking back into the bed and pillow. Good. Better than she had hoped for, honestly. “Thank the Almighty,” she breathed.

“No, thank _you_.”

Amanda looked up at Hannah, surprised by the vehemence in her voice. “What?”

“The Almighty didn’t step in to save this town, to save me! That was you and your friends and Frank and Andrew! It was because of your grit that those bandits were turned away, it was because of you that the US Marshals were able to get here in time to subdue the last of the gang. God didn’t save Paradise, Amanda O’Neill and her friends did!”

Hannah was breathing deeply now, and she was trembling slightly, emotion bringing spots of color on her cheeks, and Amanda just stared at her. This was the most passionate that Amanda had ever seen her. “Hannah…” she said, drawing off, not certain what to say.

Hannah’s shoulders sagged. “You _saved_ me, Amanda. You saved me and then this town, and got shot for it. I was so scared when I saw you as they carried you in. You were so pale!” She sucked in a deep breath, wiping away the tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I was so worried, and I think that if Diana wasn’t as skilled as she was…” she said, words hanging in the air for a long moment. Finally, she spoke again. “Frank said he wants you to stay on as his deputy. Says he couldn’t think of anyone more fitting to be his partner.”

Amanda stared at her in shock before she snorted. “Deputy O’Neill. That kinda does have a ring to it, doesn’t it?” She thought it over for a moment. “Well, hell, why not? Sure lot more respectable than just being a layabout and gambler. I’d sure love to see the look on Grandmother’s face if she-”

Her words were cut off as Hannah swooped down, pressing their lips together in a passionate kiss, and Amanda froze, not expecting the gesture now or in a million years. For a moment, she wondered if she wasn’t in a fever dream. But no, Hannah’s lips against hers was real.

The kiss lasted for a good long moment before Hannah finally drew back, and Amanda smiled up at her, feeling drunker than even the best whiskey from the saloon could make her. “What was that for?” she asked.

“Well, a respectable woman such as I wouldn’t dare be in a relationship with a gambler,” she said, though the words were teasing…Amanda had the feeling that she would have been kissed no matter what she chose to do. “But a deputy? A deputy is just fine.”

“Mmm.” Then Amanda blinked, her face growing serious as she peered up into Hannah’s face. “It was just you,” she said, and Hannah frowned, obviously confused by her words.

“What?”

“Yesterday, in the street, you asked me how many other pretty ladies of town I had asked to watch me play cards.” She paused, smiling. “I only asked you. I would only ever ask you.”

Hannah stared at her before her face softened, emotion shining in her eyes. “I do declare, deputy, that saying something like that makes me want to kiss you again.”

And so she did.

THE END


End file.
